Boyd was a 16-year-old bird. And a rare bird she was. She wasn't
just the Beatles' bird, or the Stones' bird. She was everyone's
bird! Because she was crazy.
.--Not the talk-to-yourself-then-answer
type of crazy (Robin rarely answered). Star crazy! Absolutely blithery-wild-nuts
over every celebrity in the universe, especially those who rocked
her deeply, all the way to her chewy chocolate center.
-- Had any of
these stars known Robin was alive, the admiration society would
have been mutual. For this bird wasn't the flighty sort. She never
screamed or fainted (she did gasp a lot at concerts, but no one
is perfect). And she was a super-hard worker, always busy running
fan clubs, writing letters to various publications bawling out editors
for not featuring her faves ofen enough, sneaking to the airport
in the dead of night to welcome arriving favorites. That typa thing.
-- Robin was
also a very pretty bird with long red hair. And blue eyes that peeped
up at you (if her bangs didn't need cutting).
-- But, alas
and alack, Robin's love was unrequited. In spite of her many plots
and plans, and her repeated attempts to convince various body and/or
security guards that she was on the staff of Rolling Stone, her
efforts were always in vain.
-- The closest
she had ever come to a real live star was a front- row box seat
at the first and original Hollywood Bowl Beatle concert . (Boy,
did she ever do a lot of gasping that night!)
-- At first,
all this one-sidedness didn't bother Robin. She went right
on running fan clubs, penning demands and sneaking off to the airport.
-- But, one day,
she finally put her foot down. (Fortunately, her sister's toe was
under it at the time, so the action served a dual purpose.)
-- "I've had
it," she announced loudly, not even laughing as her sister hopped
away, bellowing. "This bird is turning in her feathers!"
-- At that moment,
Robin's mother entered the room to discuss a certain toe, now turning
a rather attractive shade of purple. However, hearing this last
remark, Mrs. Boyd gave her a nervous look instead went to the yellow
pages where she began searching frantically for the number of the
men in the white coats.
-- For the next
couple of weeks, Robin's life was dreadful but dull. No fan clubs,
letters and/or airports. Things even progressed to the dreary point
where she was thinking of dismantling the Lennon shrine in her room.
(Although Robin was not a partial bird, should she ever have to
make a choice, John's chances were excellent.)
-- Then it happened...
-- One day when
Robin was slogging wearily home from school, she spied an object
glittering atop a garbage can. Looking cautiously about, she removed
her glasses from her purse and put them on. (Robin was blind as
six bats without her specs, but never wore them in public.) (Vanity
was among the few flaws in her character.)
-- After peering
more closely at the glittering object, and thinking the matter over
briefly (one and one-third seconds, actually, somewhat of a record)
she stole...er...rescued the tea pot.
-- When Robin
walked into the house moments later, brandishing same, her mother
got that look again. "What on earth is that and why?" she asked
-- "It's a tea
pot. I stole...er...rescued it," Robin offered. Her mother edged
toward the cabinet where the phone books lived.
-- "It was made
in England," Robin further explained. (Although she was not a partial
bird, should she ever have to make a choice, England's chances were
-- Robin then
placed the tea pot on her dresser and stared at it morosely, longing
for the good old days when she would have been getting ready to
sneak off to the airport.
-- But never
again! Why should she risk getting pneumonia (not to mention grounded
for the next eleven years) for some star who didn't even know she
a place for people who sit around staring at tea pots," she muttered
grimly after much vacant gazing. "Next I'll be thinking there's
a magic genie in it."
-- Then she
sighed thankfully. At least it would be a while before she was that
-- It was exactly
three minutes (well, that's a while, isn't it?) before she lunged
for the tea pot and began polishing it with her sweater.
mirror on the wall," she crooned, rubbing with vigor. She stopped.
No, no, stupid. That's not what you said to awaken genies. Besides,
they lived in lamps, not pots.
-- She hopefully
tried "Abra-ca-dabra" and got nowhere. Then, after uttering a few
more phrases including "Open Sesame" and "Shazam," she gave the
pot one final swipe. "Ratzafratz," she exclaimed impatiently, this
being her favorite expression. (Well, it's better than her last
-- Placing the
tea pot back on her dresser with a thump, Robin glowered at herself
in the mirror. "You're sick," she decided aloud.
-- "No, I'm
not," said the reflection of a young man with longish dark hair.
The one who was standing directly behind her, his accent crowded
with distinct Liverpudlian overtones. "I'm George!"
-- Robin gasped,
which was quite an innovation because she usually only did that
at concerts. She was seeing things! And hearing things, too! She
whirled around, expecting the mirage to fade. But it didn't. George
went right on standing there, grinning at her!
-- So Robin did the only thing that
seemed to make any sense in such a moment.
-- She fainted.
End of Chapter One..